To Be Whole Again
by Stoneage Woman
Summary: Coda to 10.10, 'The Hunter Games'. Recent events cause Sam to accidentally reveal a secret that he has been keeping from Dean for the past six years, leading to brotherly angst of epic proportions. Gen. One-shot.


Title: To Be Whole Again

THANKS to Achala for beta-reading this angst-fest.

A/N: I can't be the only one intrigued by the complete role reversal that has taken place between Sam and Dean this season. This is my attempt to address that, as well as try and fix something that always bothered me about Season 8 and 9.

…

_Bring me home in a blinding dream,_

_Through the secrets that I have seen_

_Wash the sorrow from off my skin_

_And show me how to be whole again_

'_Cause I'm only a crack in this castle of glass_

_Hardly anything there for you to see,_

_For you to see._

-Linkin Park, _Castle of Glass_

…

After Castiel spirits Metatron away, Dean turns and stumbles upstairs with a shell-shocked look in his eyes. Sam stares at the blood and dust spattered across the room and turns to follow him. He can't deal with the mess just yet. He heads to the kitchen and grabs two beers before going upstairs to the living area.

When he sees Dean sitting at the table, he pauses at the doorway, taking in the defeated slump of his shoulders. He doesn't know what Dean thinks about everything he's done since getting the Mark of Cain, but he can easily guess. Much as he'd like to be able to say that he has no idea what Dean is going through, he knows all too well what it feels like to come to his senses with blood staining his hands; or to stare in the mirror and not recognize who, or what, he is becoming.

He has not quite come to terms with the fact that he and Dean have essentially switched places; that he, Sam, has somehow become the one trying to hold everything together while Dean literally battles his inner demons. The one thing that truly terrifies Sam about all this is the thought that he won't be enough to hold back the darkness. After all, given the awful, secret struggle he's endured all these years, he's probably the worst possible candidate for a job like this.

"Hey," he says softly, handing his brother a beer. "You okay?" He knows it's a ridiculous question as soon as he asks it, and isn't surprised when Dean doesn't dignify it with a response.

"He said the river ends at the source," Dean mumbles.

"What does that mean?"

"Maybe nothing," says Dean. "It was the last thing he said before you guys busted in."

Even though he knows he couldn't have done anything else, Sam wonders with a sudden pang whether he and Cas had stopped Metatron from spilling something that might have actually saved Dean."Dean," he says weakly, "Look, man, we had to-"

"Hey, no; I get it, alright?" Dean interrupts. He hesitates, and then meets Sam's eyes. "I was going to kill him, and I couldn't stop myself."

The words hit Sam like a punch to the gut because he knows, he knows_ exactly_ what that feels like, and he would have given anything in the world to spare his brother that knowledge. He himself has fought his demon blood addiction for far longer than anyone knows. The truth is that even now, after all these years, Sam still feels a surge of desire every time he is near a demon. Sam has never told Dean this, and never intends to. After all, it's his cross to bear for starting the apocalypse, and what's more, he doesn't think he could stand to see the look in his brother's eyes if he ever found out.

Sam promises Dean fervently, "We'll figure it out, alright?" Dean doesn't look convinced so he adds, "Remember what Cas said about needing a powerful source?"

"Yeah, so?"

"So, I've been thinking. Cain still has the mark, right? And he's lived with it, for years he's lived with it." _Sam has lived with it too, lived with his addiction for years, and he is still here, more than six years clean._ "So yeah, the Mark is strong," he continues, "but maybe there's a part of you that wants to give into it. And maybe you have to fight that. Maybe part of that powerful force has to be _you."_

After all, if he, Sam, can do it, then Dean definitely can. They'll survive this, if only because there is no way that Sam is ever going to let his brother slide into the darkness he battles every day. He's about to say something to that effect when Dean's phone rings, the music as flamboyant and colorful as its owner.

He frowns as he listens to the ensuing conversation, a little concerned by Dean's grim expression.

"Who was that?" he asks when Dean hangs up.

"Claire," says Dean. "She says she wants to hear me out. I have to meet her tomorrow morning."

"Okay," says Sam, more than a little surprised. "Where? We can-"

"She said I had to come alone," Dean interrupts him.

"Wait, what?" Sam asks, worry making his voice sharper than he intends. "Why?"

"I have no idea." Dean shrugs.

"I don't think it's safe for you to go by yourself," says Sam.

"She's a _teenage girl,"_ Dean huffs exasperatedly. "Yeah, she's a little screwed up, but seriously what's she going to do, tie me down and paint my nails? And besides," his voice grows more serious, "Cas trusted me to do this. He doesn't ask for our help often, and after everything he did for me last year, I can't say no."

Sam frowns unhappily. "Dean," he begins, and then stops.

His brother's eyes are pleading with him to not make a big deal of this, to allow him the dignity of at least pretending that things are normal. Sam is reminded of himself not too many years ago, walking around on eggshells as he fought his addiction, feeling hurt and so fucking ashamed as Dean's distrustful gaze followed him everywhere. He can't do that to Dean.

"Okay," he says reluctantly. "Just, call me if anything goes sideways."

"I will," says Dean earnestly, catching Sam by surprise with the depth of gratitude in the words.

It makes him feel slightly better about his decision to trust Dean, but he can't quite force back his misgivings.

…

Rage clouds Dean's vision, and he is seconds away from hacking both of the scumbags at his feet into pieces- how dare they try and sneak up on him? Who did they think he was? The bloodlust rages through his veins as he raises the axe above his head.

And then Claire screams.

It's as though a flood of icy water has been poured over him, shocking him back to himself. He looks up and sees the terror on Claire's face. Sam's voice rings in his ears again, telling him that he has to find the strength to fight this. It is one of the hardest things he has ever done, but he brings the axe down on the wooden bench, instead.

As the couple scrambles away, Claire turns to run as well, her eyes wet and fearful. "Stop right there," Dean barks angrily, striding after her.

He is furious with her for putting him in this position- if she hadn't warned him at the last second; there is no telling what he might have done to them. He has spilled enough blood on account of this girl. He grabs her arm roughly and turns her to face him. "Do you have any idea what you just did? What you almost made me do?"

"I'm sorry," she sobs, terrified.

"I know you hate me for what I did, and you have every reason to," Dean says through gritted teeth. "Nothing excuses what I did to those men, even if they were a bunch of loan sharks and rapists. But you get one thing straight- Cas _saved_ you from that bastard you called family. You think those guys would have let him live if he hadn't found a way to pay them back? He sold you out to be raped."

Some of Dean's anger dissipates at the stricken look on her face. Claire is far too naïve and trusting for someone who has been out on the streets for as long as she has, but she is still very young, and she had considered Randy family.

"You have to be smarter than this, kid," he says more gently. "Castiel is the best friend you have right now, and you need someone like that watching out for you. Because at the rate you're going, you're going to end up dead in less than a week. I know you think of him as the guy who killed your father, but you have no idea what else was going on at the time. He helped prevent the apocalypse."

"That doesn't help my Dad any, does it?" she spits out, eyes flashing.

"No, it doesn't," Dean says. "But neither does trying to get revenge on _me."_ His eyes bore into hers. "What you just did? _Almost_ made you a murderer. And trust me when I say there is no going back from that. Not ever."

He can see by the sudden paling of her features that the words hit her hard. This time, when she turns and rushes away from him, he doesn't try to stop her. He closes his eyes, feeling a tide of shame rush over him. If Claire hadn't screamed when she did-

His phone rings, the rock music sudden and jarring in the silence. "Hey," he says.

"How'd it go?" his brother asks anxiously. "Is everything okay?"

Dean snorts. _"Okay_ isn't exactly the word I'd use," he mutters.

"What happened? Are you hurt? Do you need me to come get you?"

"Whoa, hey, slow down, Sammy," Dean interrupts the panicked tirade. "I'm fine, and so is Claire, I promise. I-" he stops, suddenly unable to face the prospect of admitting what he'd nearly done. "I'll explain the rest when I get home."

He hangs up before his brother has a chance to say anything else, and doesn't pick up when the phone starts ringing again almost immediately. He half wishes he had just told Sam everything was fine, but dismisses the fleeting thought with a flush of guilt. Sam had_ trusted_ him to do this by himself, and he deserves to know how badly Dean had let him down. Besides, hiding what the Mark is doing to him puts all those around him at risk, and the constant awareness of that fact will not allow Dean to keep silent.

Sighing, Dean drags his feet as he makes his way back to his car, already dreading the conversation he knows will come.

…

When Dean lets himself into the bunker an hour later, he glances around and pauses in surprise. He would have bet anything that Sam would be waiting at the door for him with anxious questions already spilling from his lips, but his brother is nowhere to be seen.

He enters the living area, unsure of what to expect when he sees Sam sitting at the table, his shoulders tense but his face surprisingly clear of all emotion. "Hey," Dean greets him cautiously.

"Hey," says Sam, his voice taut with anxiety.

Dean takes a seat opposite him, feeling very much like a man about to face the firing squad, and waits for the inevitable barrage of questions. "Want a drink?" Sam asks instead.

Dean's eyebrow's shoot up in surprise- since when does Sam offer him alcohol at 2 in the afternoon? But after the last few hours, he can think of nothing more tempting. "Hell, yeah," he says with feeling.

Sam nods and rises. Dean stares after him, not sure what to make of his behavior. His confusion increases when Sam returns with the drinks and sits across from him without saying anything.

"Okay, I'll bite," he says after a few minutes, unable to take the uncomfortable silence. "Are you giving me the silent treatment?"

Sam looks up, startled. "What do you mean?"

Dean is already regretting saying anything, but he can't back down now. "I know you're curious about what happened with Claire," he says.

Sam meets his gaze steadily. "You said everything was fine," he says simply. "I trust you."

There is so much conviction in the words that Dean is stunned- and deeply touched. He now feels even worse about his actions. "Yeah, well, maybe you shouldn't," he says grimly. "Turns out, Claire was a lot angrier than either of us realized. She called me there because she wanted to have me killed."

"_What?!"_ Sam exclaims in shock. "How could-?"

"I'm not sure," Dean interrupts him. "She made friends with these two lowlifes- they're probably the ones who convinced her to do it, or maybe she convinced them, I'm not really sure. Anyway, one of them was about to get me from behind with a baseball bat when she got cold feet and shouted out a warning."

"God, Dean," says Sam, his complexion going grey. "You could have…"

"I nearly did," says Dean, shame rippling through him in a sickening wave. "I was so angry, I couldn't even see straight. I was this close to-"

"_No,"_ Sam interrupts forcefully. "You think I give a fuck about _that?_ For God's sake, Dean, you could have died!"

The words leave behind a ringing silence. Stunned into speechlessness, Dean studies his brother, taking in the clenched line of his jaw and his white-knuckled grip on the glass of whiskey. He suddenly realizes that it has only been months since Sam had lost him. Dean had actually been dead,_ again_, and then he'd vanished and Sam hadn't had any idea where he was.

"I'm fine, Sammy," he says gently. "I promise. Not a scratch."

Sam nods jerkily and takes an extra big swallow of his drink. "So what happened?" he asks.

Dean averts his gaze. "I nearly killed them," he confesses in a whisper. "I was so close- if Claire hadn't screamed at me to stop, I would have."

He waits for Sam's judgment, but it never comes. Instead, Sam is looking at him with something like pride. "But you did," he says. "I knew you would. I knew you could fight this, Dean!"

Dean stares at him incredulously. "I'm sorry; did you not just listen to a word I said?" he says in disbelief. "I was two seconds away from hacking them into pieces!"

"But you _didn't,"_ Sam reiterates, as if it's the only thing that matters. "You stopped yourself just in time. And sometimes? That's all you can ever hope for, Dean."

"Oh, because you'd know _so_ much about it," Dean retorts without thinking, irritated by his brother's quick and, in his eyes, undeserved forgiveness.

Sam's expression instantly shutters. "I _do_ know about it, actually," he says stiffly. "In case you've forgotten, you aren't the only one who's had to fight off his _inner demons."_

"That's not the same thing, Sammy," Dean says, taken aback. "I literally can't stop myself, it actually feels good when I'm about to tear into someone with a blade or an axe- I mean, it's almost like-" He stops suddenly, horrified as comprehension finally dawns.

Sam gives him a sad, knowing smile. "Like an addiction?" he finishes softly. "No, I guess I wouldn't have _any_ idea about how that feels, Dean."

"_God,"_ says Dean raggedly. "You…"

He stares at Sam with wide, shocked eyes, because the thought of that Sam's demon blood addiction might be anything like the Mark of Cain had never even _occurred_ to him. Although he realizes now that it really should have. Was this the reason Sam was treating Dean with so much compassion and careful respect?

Dean feels a sudden, searing guilt. He hadn't shown even a fraction of the same understanding to Sam when their roles had been reversed. He can't even imagine going through this if Sam treated him with that level of distrust or hostility, or if Sam ever said to him,_ "If I didn't know you, I would want to hunt you."_

"I'm sorry, Sammy," he says, swallowing hard. "I never realized how hard it must have been, but that's no excuse for the way I treated you."

But Sam is frowning at him, shaking his head in denial. "No, Dean, I deserved everything you threw at me that year," he says. "I slept with a demon and caused the _apocalypse._ My point is, if _I_ can fight my addiction, so can you. You've always been a lot stronger than me."

"That's not-wait, what?" Dean's eyes widen as the words sink in. "If you _can_ fight it? _Present tense?"_

There is a flash of panic in Sam's eyes before he recovers enough to conceal it behind a nonchalant expression. "Sorry, I meant-"

Dean is having none of it. "No, you didn't," he snaps, and his heart is pounding with fear because if what Sam just let slip is true, then it means- Dean can't even wrap his head around what it means. "You still have to fight it?" he demands, eyes boring into Sam's. "Even _now?"_

Sam cheeks are flushed, and his eyes are darting around the room as if looking for an escape route. "No, of course not-" he begins, but his voice is small and unconvincing.

"Sam," he says through gritted teeth. "Don't you dare fucking lie to me, not about this. Are you still addicted to demon blood?"

Sam flinches violently at the words. He doesn't reply, but it is all the confirmation Dean needs. _"God," _he says, so staggered by the revelation that for a long moment, he can't even speak. "Why didn't you_ tell_ me?" he asks finally.

Sam hunches over, crossing his arms across his chest. "I was handling it," he says defensively. "Haven't slipped in six years, have I?"

_Six years._

"So you-" Dean can't process it, no matter how hard he tries. "You've really been dealing with this since the _Cage?_ Even when you were _soulless?"_

For a second, Sam looks like he wants to get up and leave the room. But then his shoulders slump and all the fight goes out of him. "The only reason I didn't fall off the wagon that year was because I knew it would have done me more harm than good if I got hooked again," he mutters, refusing to meet Dean's gaze. "He didn't want me that dependent on anything, even if it would have given me a huge edge while hunting."

Yeah, that sounds like just the kind of cold, unfeeling logic that soulless Sam would have used, Dean thinks, feeling ill. "And what about after that?" he asks. "When Lucifer was riding shotgun? And the year when I was in Purgatory, you were really-?"

Sam lets out a shaky sigh. "It was a miracle I got through the hallucinations without breaking," he admits quietly. "If we'd had more demons to deal with that year, I probably would have. And when you were in Purgatory-" He looks at Dean with a deep-seated remorse in his eyes. "I should have looked for you. I wanted to, more than anything, but I just didn't trust myself not to slip again. I mean the last time you were dead; I didn't exactly do so well, did I?" He lets out a short, bitter laugh and mutters self-deprecatingly, "I didn't think it was a good idea for me to keep hunting when it would bring me so close to temptation."

So this was it, the real reason Sam had quit hunting. Two years ago, Dean would have given anything to know, but now, it only makes him feel ill, especially when he remembers how much crap he'd given Sam for not looking for him. He tries to imagine it- living with the Mark of Cain for six years without anyone knowing, quietly struggling with it day and in and day out- and finds that he can't.

"So you've really lived with this the whole time?" he asks, his eyes stinging as the full extent of what Sam has been through begins to sink in.

"Pretty much," says Sam, nearly inaudible. "It got better, somehow, during the Trials. For the first time in years, I felt clean again. No cravings at all, especially towards the end. It felt almost like the Trials were-"

_Purifying me, _Dean finishes silently, feeling a strong sense of déjà vu. His throat is tight as he remembers that gut-wrenching conversation, when Sam had talked about how he had felt unclean even as a kid. He finally understands just what he had asked Sam to sacrifice when he'd told him to quit the Trials so near the end. Suddenly, everything about Sam's hostility last year makes a horrible kind of sense.

"After I brought you back," he says hoarsely, "did the cravings come back again? Was that why you were so angry with me for saving you?"

"I'm sorry, Dean." There is a haunted look in Sam's eyes. "I know I was unfair to you, I know I said a lot of shit last year. But I just- I honestly thought I was finally done with fighting the addiction all the time, I thought it was really gone for good, you know? And then to have it come back like that- it took me a while to get used to it again, and it was hard not to resent you for it."

Dean closes his eyes. He has never, ever felt more like a failure than he does in this moment. "I should have been helping you," he says hoarsely. "All these years, I should have been helping you, but I just made it harder for you didn't I? Every time I-"

"_No," _Sam interrupts fiercely. "You don't get to apologize for that when it was _my_ choice to keep it from you. And if you really think that you aren't the _only_ reason I've stayed clean this long, then you're an even more of an idiot than I thought."

"Hey," says Dean, but his protest is half-hearted at best.

Sam studies him and sighs. "See, this is why I didn't want to tell you," he says. "I knew it would screw with your head, but when you look at the bigger picture, it really doesn't matter. Yes, I've been dealing with this addiction for years, and I probably will be for the rest of my life. It's not always that bad- there are some days when I'm barely even aware of it, but there are also some when I barely survive it. What I _do _know is that it's possible to live with evil inside of you. If I can do it, you can too-you're a _lot_ stronger than I am."

"Now who's being the idiot?" says Dean thickly, because that is seriously the most nonsensical thing Sam has ever said to him. He almost wants to shake Sam for saying that his addiction doesn't matter- has Sam forgotten who he's talking to? Dean is nowhere near just taking Sam's revelation in his stride, as if it's just another part of their fucked up lives. But despite everything, the intensity of Sam's faith in him is enough to make Dean worry a little less for himself. Because if anyone can find a way to get Dean through this, even if it's by sheer force of willpower, it's Sam.

Impulsively, he reaches out and grabs Sam's forearm. "Seriously, kid," he says earnestly. "Don't ever say you aren't strong enough. I have never been more proud of you than I am right now."

Sam's breath catches at the words; and for a brief second, he looks close to tears. But the moment passes and he surprises Dean by giving him a wan smile. "I guess this is what Marie would call a "BM scene, right?" he asks. "Do you ever notice how often you initiate those? For someone who claims to be allergic to chick flick moments-"

"Oh, bite me," Dean grumbles.

"I'm just saying-"

"Don't be a little bitch, Sammy." Dean glares at him in warning, until Sam subsides.

And if Dean's exasperation isn't quite as convincing as it should be, then Sam doesn't call him on it.

…

END

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